


It's The Perfect Dream

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Series: Popslash Pumas [1]
Category: Popslash
Genre: AU, DWNOGA, M/M, Multi, Secret Santa, Were-Creatures, Were-pumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: "This isn't some kind of fucked up metaphor, is it 'C?"JC drew a long breath of smoke and held it, shaking his head."You're telling me you're now a werecat, really really for real? Turning into a puma on full moons real? Sudden cravings for raw steak real? Reacting to catnip real?"That last made JC giggle, blurting out smoke and bending at the waist, then falling back with his head on Chris's shoulder, suddenly serious."Really, really, really real. Chris. Scaring me shitless real."





	

JC had sounded stressed when he'd called to check where Chris would be if JC wanted to come visiting. Which was the ostensible reason for Chris pulling out his stash when JC'd only been at the house for a few hours. Long enough to get the small talk out the way and for JC to have not mentioned anything that explained the phone call or the sudden visit. So Chris pulled JC's skinny self down into the couch and dropped his stash bag in his lap.

Watching JC's deft fingers rolling up was always a pleasure, and as he tended to fret if offered pre-mades that weren't up to his own meticulous standards, allowing JC to roll was a win-win. The smoke was sweet and mellow, passed between them, fingers brushing on the splif and personal space dissolving. They were into their third – mellow, but not really buzzed – by the time JC felt ready to explain himself.

By the time he stopped trying, they were on their forth and Chris was wondering if his bandmate had been sneaking anything extra into the pot.

"This isn't some kind of fucked up metaphor, is it 'C?"

JC drew a long breath of smoke and held it, shaking his head.

"You're telling me you're now a werecat, really really for real? Turning into a puma on full moons real? Sudden cravings for raw steak real? Reacting to catnip real?"

That last made JC giggle, blurting out smoke and bending at the waist, then falling back with his head on Chris's shoulder, suddenly serious.

"Really, really, really real. Chris. Scaring me shitless real."

Chris's arm fell round JC's shoulder drawing him close, comfort as automatic as it could be, while his other hand rubbed at his own forehead, trying to make sense of everything he'd been told.

"So, you've been enjoying the benefits of being young, free, famous and fabulously bendy, including being propositioned by Nick and Paris - to which you agreed, for some reason I don’t begin to understand because I know I remember you saying you were never going to sleep with him again. Which brings us to you finding out that you're occasionally furry, yes? And now you want someone you trust to keep quiet about it to find out how to make it stop?"

JC nodded and curled closer, and Chris squeezed those wide shoulders just a little more.

"And for this top secret research project you came to me and not Lance, why?"

JC looked decidedly hangdog for a long moment while Chris tried to hide the incipient hysteria created by his brain trying to rationalise JC's pronouncement by suggesting 'hangkitty?'. He dragged his attention back to the rather more urgent matter of why it was him hearing the news.

"You didn't want to tell him because it was Nick Carter and he's still pissed about that thing in New York, right?"

"No! Well, ok, yes, but it's not … it's just he's not really in a place right now … or we're n …"

Chris caught one of JC's flying hands while agreeing that maybe right in the middle of Lance's Grand Reinvention of Himself wasn't the moment to remind Lance of his old faithful status. Chris also managed to confirm that it really had been Paris and Nick – both this time and the last time JC had argued with Lance – and assessed the relative odds of JC and Lance getting back together again before the end of the year, which would win him his side bet with Joey. Multitasking at its best.

"OK, so not Lance, even though I'm pretty sure he'd be more help to you, and not Justin, obviously." No taking problems to the Justified Infant ; one of the few rules that they'd all stuck to over the years, despite Justin's occasional outrage when he realised. Chris had wondered more than once if it protected them or Justin more. "So why not Joey?"

"Brianna."

Like that answered anything. Chris passed the splif to JC and blinked for a moment.

"Brianna? JC. You love Brianna. Brianna loves you. Joey loves you, and loves that you love Brianna. Kelly loves you, so long as you never ever again give their child musical instruments as gifts. I'm not seeing the problem."

JC stiffened against him.

"I turn into a mountain lion, Chris, a big fucking cat. I don't … I don't remember everything , and I might, or it might …"

Oh, shit.

JC didn’t get that angry helpless tone in his voice, like, ever and the mental image of the kidlet running around and a sleek shape prowling after her with claws and teeth was unpleasantly vivid. Chris wished once again that JC hadn't waited until they were halfway buzzed before sharing his big news.

"No way, man. You wouldn't and Joey knows that. He'd trust you."

"I don't."

Well : fuck.

Chris was extra specially grateful that JC's natural position when high was 'wrapped around someone' because what could he say? He ran his hand over JC's tensed back, urging the muscles to unwind, and took back the joint.

"Keep you and everyone else safe, and find out how to make it stop, right? I'm on it, Jace - I got you."

He kept stroking circles and eventually JC sighed and relaxed against him again. The ash on the splif was getting long, and Chris drew in one final drag before leaning to dump the butt in the ashtray. JC's cheek was rough with two-day stubble under his fingers, but he came willingly, leaning in, mouth to mouth, smoke mingling between them.

*****

Even allowing for JC's normal aversion to waking up, and even when circumstances took mornings out of the equation, the house was especially quiet. A different sort of silence to the usual empty-house silence. The guest room door was all the way shut instead of just drawn to, with JC inside, rather than on the couch which was where Chris remembered him being last. Chris took the hint and took himself and his coffee off to his basement studio.

When Chris emerged the shadows were casting long bars across the hallway and JC was humming to himself and making a mess of the kitchen. He didn't notice Chris leaning against the doorway behind him, so he startled when Chris joined in, harmonising half an octave up. Chris grinned.

"Good to have you back, C."

JC smiled, stirred the pot some more and resumed humming.

Somehow they managed to not talk about it over dinner. They talked about how messed up the music industry was, and producers they trusted and producers they didn’t, and what in the world Britney thought she was doing, and what their families were up to, and how Lance was doing with training the new puppies, and all manner of things, all very mundane and down to earth.

They managed not to talk about it all evening, and early the next morning JC was due back to the world of promo and appearances, and Chris resolutely wasn't. They spent the early hours on the couch, legs entwined, talking about nothing much, and then when JC really did had to go Chris made him coffee and they both said 'catch you later', and not 'goodbye', just the same as always.

*****

Six days later, the day before full moon, JC was walking through VIP at the airport en route to his hire car listening to the messages that had collected on his cell while he was in the air. Business, mostly, bits and pieces that could wait a few days, and finally one from Chris.

"Hey kit kit kitty. Gate code's the usual, mine's eight seven eight, seven seven nine right now."

JC had to wrap one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, and had to redial twice to get the number noted down. Fucker.

*****

Chris made it back to the house before dark, but not by much. Close enough that JC was pacing lengths of the house, twitchy at curtains and glaring at his cell phone. Close enough that the argument was almost inevitable, given that Chris had been arguing with label reps and stuck in traffic and didn’t seem to understand why it was that JC was so fucking twitchy about it getting dark. Utterly inevitable once that little gem came out.

"You were stoned off your gourd, and claiming to be a cat, JC – if course I didn’t think you were fucking serious! Have you mentioned it since? No. Did you bring it up at any point, in person or otherwise, when you or I were sober? No. Have you actually manifested any signs of being an actual cat. JC? No. Because you're not a fucking cat! Jesus!"

"It's not … Chris. You promised." JC could hear the borderline-whine in his own voice, and wrapped his arms around himself to try not to lose it entirely. Chris barrelled on, arms waving.

"I promised not to tell anyone about your amusing stoned ramblings, you fucker, which I haven't, although I'm starting to think that maybe I should be the good friend and do that This goes way past normal standards of weird, even for you, because it's gotta take some kind of psychotic break to have you convinced not only that you're a werecat but also that I'd believe you. Has Lonnie been trying to have serious conversations with you at any point recently? Because I swear that man must have picked this up and I think I'm surprised that he hasn't just dropped you off at the shrink's already. And I swear to god, if you got your blood work done and this is some fucked up not-coping mechanism…"

JC pointedly didn’t slam the guest room door, but he did slide the bolt across, and when the closed door didn't stop Chris's voice from following him, JC retreated to the bathroom and ran the shower at full strength to drown him out. Once all was quiet, he curled on the bed trying desperately not to think about Chris or the gathering dusk outside.

*****

Arguing like that left Chris prickly and itchy in his skin, especially when it was JC, who wouldn't fight back like Justin, or just let it wash over him like Joey tended to do. Prickly and itchy and ill at ease, and the closed door seemed to glare at him reproachfully every time he crossed the hallway. Even hours later, nothing could hold his attention, and thinking about how frantic JC had appeared or how fucked up he seemed to be wasn't exactly peaceful or calming. When he eventually fell asleep it was fitful and full of dreams about JC being eaten by mountain lions and tour busses rolling down mountains.

Something startled him awake and he lay, suddenly alert, straining to catch any noise in the darkness. His heart was just starting to return to normal when he heard it again, something heavy and thudding and a creaking that made Chris flash on crow bars and masked marauders. He fumbled for the bedside lamp. Another thump almost made him drop his glasses, followed as it was by an ominous cracking noise and then silence.

No footfalls, no voices, no breaking glass, nothing. No phone in the bedroom, and no sign of his cell in the shadowy half light the reading lamp cast across the room. No baseball bats to hand, and god forbid, no guns in the house.

He swallowed. It sounded loud inside his ears.

He eased himself upright, hearing only the tiny noises of sheets and springs and his own shallow breathing, eyes fixed on the dark hallway.

He thought about calling out, maybe scaring the intruders off, except what if it didn't? What if it just told them where he was to get kidnapped or killed, or what if it woke JC up and the attackers realised he was here too? He felt about on the floor alongside the bed, fishing for yesterday's shorts and his elusive cell phone. He heard the house settle and the trees outside rattle on the windows and it was unnaturally still and why hadn't he had those clap-activated lights fitted or something, anything, that would be better than peering into shadows and hearing his heart jump, because there was something very, very wrong.

The phone in his hand was comforting out of all proportion to its size, and with the nine-one already dialled, and still no sound after those that had woken him, Chris shook himself, and tiptoed towards the open door.

He had one hand on the doorknob, cool and smooth under his fingers, when he saw it. Just a sense of motion at first, and then a far-too-silent darker shade of shadow flowing up the hallway towards him that became a puma as soon as his terrified brain could remember the concept. Sleek and purposeful, heavy yellow eyes catching the dim light and seeing him. Seeing him and slowing and approaching ohh so slowly and Chris's mouth too dry to shape a sound, and his eyes closing in self defence, clinging to the door like a baby with a blankie.

It padded close enough that Chris could hear the rasp of its breathing over the thunder of blood on his eardrums, hear it inhale, taking scent, and hear it huff slightly. Close enough to feel its heat and be enveloped in its musky, alien animal scent, and to hear breathing and a slick sound that could only be made by tongue and teeth. Close enough that the huff sent hot air over his skin and made him flinch, and drop the phone.

The clatter of plastic on floorboards was loud, but the puma didn't flinch. It scented his knees, his groin, his body – short snuffling breaths and hot huffs of air – and when Chris forced his eyes open in the half light, the puma was staring back, watching him. The pale fur under its muzzle caught the light from the bedroom as it angled its head up, and some suicidal part of Chris wanted to reach out and touch, until he thought of the heavy bones and teeth underneath. He tightened his grip on the doorknob and focussed on remembering to breathe.

When the puma eventually moved, the motion was slow and definite, turning close enough that the weight of the beast pressed Chris against the door and the soft warmth of its tail dragged over his bare calf as it padded away. As soon as the shadows and corners swallowed it completely, the frozen moment ended and the panic returned, heart-racing adrenaline and terror of what might-have-beens.

*****

He spent the night in his bathroom, both doors bolted and all the lights on, watching the door with suspicion and trying to make sense of what had happened.

The early birdsong found him stiff and no closer to a rational explanation. The long hot shower did wonders for his body, chilled from half a night crouched leaning on cold tile, but he forced himself to accept that at least partially he was killing time until the sun was high and bright enough to burn any supernatural out of the day before he unlocked himself and went to check on JC.

At the end of the day, 'JC wasn't just being weird' made at least as much sense as 'domesticated cougar escapes from zoo, travels a couple of hundred miles, breaks into house and sniffs pop star'. The splintered wreck of the guestroom door only strengthened the case.

Nevertheless, a familiar bitter taste returned to the back of his mouth as Chris knocked on the doorframe.

'Jace?'

The mumble that received was familiar from a thousand and one mornings, and Chris stepped carefully over the wreckage into the room. JC was sprawled on top of the bedclothes, a stripe of sunlight from the mostly-drawn curtains painted down the full length of his bare skin, tanned shoulder to ankle over the pale curve of his butt. Relief and something more mingled in Chris's chest.

"Jace?"

he repeated, getting another mumble, and persuading JC only to burrow his face further into the pillow, hair falling over his face and the sunlight making the fine hairs on the nape of his neck gleam. Familiar from only a treasured handful of mornings, but familiar none the less.

The way JC tensed under his hand, that was not. That was wrong and bad, and JC scrambling away across the bed, apologising and cursing and never once looking at Chris, that was wrong enough to hurt. He must have said something, made some noise, because half hidden by the bathroom door JC paused and glanced towards him, and everything about his expression said 'sorry', for all he drew back, and left the snick of the bolt loud in the guestroom.

*****

Chris made coffee.

There was only so long he could stare at a locked door, they'd all learned long ago that trying to talk to JC when he didn’t want to have a conversation was a lost cause, unless you were Justin, and sometimes even then, and listening to the shower run was making him feel vaguely pervy, so: coffee.

After the first mug, he dragged the wrecked door out into the back hall, leaning it against a wall, and swept up the splinters so a barefoot JC wouldn't injure himself. JC was still in the bathroom and not answering.

Chris took his second mug and retreated to the living room, curling up on the couch with his hands wrapped around the heat and the tv on mute. The coffee was lukewarm before he took his first sip, and stone cold before JC came and perched at the other end of the couch.

"Hey." JC was quiet, hiding inside an oversize sweater with his hair still damp.

"Hey, yourself. Guess I owe you an apology, huh?"

Chris unbent one leg so his toes poked at JC's knee in punctuation. At least this time JC didn’t flinch at the contact. After a moment one sweater-wrapped hand came to rest over Chris's bare foot.

"I guess I owe you a door." JC replied eventually.

Chris shrugged. "Lance has been on at me to redecorate that room forever. No big."

JC's face was a picture.

"Seriously – so long as you didn’t break a paw or something doing it."

"So, you're not even a bit freaked out that I turned into a giant cat and smashed your house up?"

"I'm not saying it's not really fucking weird, but the door's kinda the least of my worries here, 'C – You ok?"

JC wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged. Chris poked with his toes.

"I will be – that what you want to hear, Chris?"

"It'll do. I'm sorry, you know. Last night … I told you you should have gone to Lance, right? I'm not good at this shit, and you actually straight up told me you weren't ok and I blew you off … "

"You let me come back." JC countered.

"Idiot – when are you ever not welcome in my home, huh?"

"When I'm a puma?"

"Screw that – you're still you, right?"

"Kinda. It's weird. Seeing in cat."

"Yeah?"

"It's … yeah. Like hearing stuff in 3d and knowing things from smell and you don't see detail so well, but motion is just – woah. Like – hard wired too – you see something move and just react, and …"

The animation drained out of JC's voice and he looked away.

"Did anyone tell you about Chicito? Alex thinks it was coyotes or something. In the yard. The first time I was – the first moon. Chris, she just – she ran and she was prey, and then she crunched."

Chris thought of the little whippet and fought to keep his face from reflecting the lurch his stomach took.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

When Chris ditched the mug and scrambled round so he could pull JC down to lean against his chest, where Chris could wrap his arms around him, he wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to reassure more.

It was a while before JC started talking again, easier somehow, with their faces hidden from each other and their bodies wrapped together, about how it felt to change, to wake up in a different body, to remember things you know you didn’t know. About fear and trust and nightmares and incomprehension and being afraid of yourself. He didn't talk about how much he needed touch and reassurance and someone to tell him that everything would work out, but he didn't need to, because Chris was pressed tight behind him, like a cosy but determined limpet.

JC whispered that the puma had been able to taste Chris's fear, rolling off him in the darkness. That the adrenaline spike in Chris' blood had flared like a red flag in the puma's vision. That he wasn't sure how he would have reacted if Chris has moved and muddied the sight he knew as home and friend and some-time lover with flight as well as the iron tang of prey in his scent. That it had taken all of JC-JC's willpower to turn his back and move away from the temptation.

Every time JC said that the puma could have hurt Chris, Chris reminded him that he didn’t and that he didn't think JC would have, and anyway, Chris knew not to run now. Every time JC muttered that he should leave, he should run himself, take himself out of harms way, Chris held a little tighter and argued that that would be dumb, and he'd just waste time on tracking down JC when they could be looking for a cure.

Every time JC clenched his fist against his thigh because it all seemed so hopeless, Chris wrapped his smaller hand around JC's and suggested a dozen more avenues of research, and ok, some of those avenues were Buffy, but that just made JC smile, somehow. Eventually JC talked himself out, and the exhaustion began to kick in, and the conversation drifted into silence and JC's breathing lengthened into sleep.

His head rested on Chris' shoulder, soft hair tickling above the slight scratch of stubble where JC's jaw was butted up against Chris', and Chris could see the sharpness of collarbones under the baggy top. He'd used Chris' shower gel, so he smelt both familiar and different, and it had been too long since JC had fallen asleep on him, and a long long time since he'd wrapped himself up in the other guys' clothes for comfort. Chris breathed him in, turned his face slightly to drop a kiss on JC's neck, and eventually followed him into sleep.

*****

Chris woke first – only half a sleepless night to JC's two – to find JC if anything curled closer. They'd shifted around in their sleep, ending up almost face to face, and one of JC's hands had worked its way under the hems of Chris's shirts, resting warm on the skin of his side. It was a testament to JC's very real exhaustion that Chris managed to wriggle out over the back of the couch without waking him.

He fled to the kitchen, summoning coffee and takeout leftovers to fuel his research, and by the time JC padded into the studio to find him, Chris had fifteen or twenty windows open and pages and pages of scribbled notes, and started talking straight away.

Their conversations went much the same way for the rest of JC's two day stay, Chris keeping a torrent of words and information and questions between them, and JC letting it wash over him. JC was too quiet, and Chris filled the silences as best he could, and followed every lead imaginable to try and find actual answers to strengthen his reassurances.

"Idiot – you'll come back here."

"But, what …"

"No but's 'C – you'll come here. and do your thing and I remember not to run, and everything will be fine. Hell, I'll build you a cage if that's what it takes. Although if you'd talk to your friends you could always go to one of the others – I'm not doing anything that can’t be moved – I can come visit wherever."

"Chris – I can't. They'll think I'm insane."

"Probably, but they'd look after you anyway. It's one of those things, 'C – the show must go one, you'll always find the reserves from somewhere to keep on singing, and the rest of us have got your back, whether or not we think you're insane, so – go get on the flying bus of yours, wow the crowds, and get your butt back here next month, yes?

JC's mouth trembled, and then he was off in peels of honest-to-goodness giggles.

"What! What's so funny?"

"I was thinking …. you …. in a cheerleader's outfit"

"Dude! Your brain scares me – but if that's what it takes to get you out of my house and back on the plane to LaLa land, I might be able to do something."

He was fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, threatening to pull it up, when JC's hands pinned his, keeping him covered up. JC's smiled and there was laughter in his voice, while he insists that no no, that wasn't necessary. He was still smiling when he leant closer, lips dry and soft on Chris's chapped ones. "Thank you." JC pulled him into a tight hug.

Chris thought that most likely it was wishful thinking that made him think he felt JC nuzzling under his ear as well as cupping his skull in his hand. Wishful thinking he'd promised himself he wouldn't give in to any more.

*****

It did take a cage to get JC to return the next month, and the several after that. Or at least, a puma-proof room in Chris's basement, with no windows and a heavy metal doors as well as an en suite shower and a well padded futon mattress that Chris smothered in soft, warm, silky covers. The lack of windows conclusively disproved theory number one, that it took moon light to bring about the change, and by the end of the third month Chris had painted the ceiling with a night-sky, complete with clouds and stars, with the caged light fitting as a bright white moon in the centre.

The painting, along with practising at a local shooting range at JC's insistence, had gave him something to do in between failing to find any actual solutions and not talking to any of the people he normally went too when he had something on his mind. He knew, because they spoke almost every day, that JC had visited with the others; made up with Lance even, but that JC still wasn't telling anyone else why he'd had his assistants block out two or more days every twenty eight days or so for a trip down to Chris', no matter who was offering what to have him be somewhere else. Which just meant there was no way he could go back on his promise to keep JC's secret, but the more stressed JC got about his situation, and the less Chris could find out about how to fix it, the more he needed to be sure he'd covered all the angles.

In the end he flew out to Washington to catch JC on a three-day stop to have the conversation in person. The ''C, I really think we have to tell people. You have to tell people and I need to be able to talk to them so I don’t go insane not helping you' conversation. The one Chris had been planning in his head for a while now. He just hadn't planned on JC's reaction.

"So … you seriously want me to call up Nick Carter, out of the blue, and just start a little friendly conversation about you being a part time feline?" Part of Chris's mind was aware that the rising tone of incredulous panic was going to blow his cool calm and collected cover, but seeing as it wasn't offering a lot of alternatives, he carried right along.

"You do realise that I think I'm the only one of you easy-going assholes who hasn't slept with a Backstreet Boy at some point, and that it's got to be nearly two years since I even spoke to Nick? And why on earth should he even believe me?"

JC interrupted before Chris could really get a good head of steam up. "He'll believe you."

"'C - I didn’t believe you, and you're one of my best friends and you don’t have a reputation for practical jokes and general crazy-guy-ness. "

"No, but he'll believe you about this."

"Oh". Chris thought about that for a second. "So it was him?"

"Paris, I think – she's the one that scratches."

"Ewww!" Chris pantomimed not entirely feigned disgust, pulling faces until JC poked him in the side.

"Fucker." JC's voice was warm.

"Yeah well – made you smile, didn’t I?"

"Yeah. But seriously. Nick – no one else? Please?" JC looked sufficiently serious that Chris caved immediately.

"Yeah yeah – I'll just deal with this all on my own, huh?"

"Sure – or you could talk to Nick, who's actually pretty together about this right now."

"But not exactly known for his intellectual prowess."

"He's not a kid any more Chris" It looked like JC was going to explain more, but the alarm on his cell buzzed, and JC's eyes shot to the clock as he switched it off.

"Look – I've got to go …"

"Shoo. Shoo – get gone – I'll be here later, 'k?"

After a certain amount of wandering around JC's hotel room being bored, Chris called Nick. As insane stilted conversations went, it could have been worse, but it didn’t exactly bring a whole lot of new information to the table. In fact Nick seemed oddly unconcerned about things, taking the whole conversation in his stride. Chris did his best to be subtle about accusing Nick's ex-girlfriend of passing along contagious were-cattery, which wasn't the easiest thing to do, given that that was basically the point of the phone call. He really wasn't expecting Nick's reaction to his circumlocution to be so – chirpy.

"Puma, Chris, you can say it. Puuummaa? Unless Paris had something really nasty that I haven't found out about yet, which I doubt, 'cos Kev had the doctors run about every test known to man…"

"Um – yeah. Yeah, I guess that's what I getting to. Were-cats. Full moon. All that jazz. Are you really that ok with the whole situation? 'Cos the gossip was that you took things pretty hard?"

"That's a personal question for ten, Chris, but lets just say it's water under the bridge now, yeah?"

"OK, but – this puma thing?"

"Yes?"

"They have tests for that?"

"The diagnosis is pretty straight forward, actually." Chris could hear the grin in Nick's voice.

"That wasn't actually my question."

"So – ask your question."

Chris sketched in JC's situation, and his own lack of success researching a cure, and Nick listened and made the odd comment.

"So – you're not worried about hurting someone?" Chris repeated, somewhat disbelieving. Nick appeared, basically, to be so laid back he was horizontal.

"Nah – why would I?"

"Because you've just woken up as half a ton of predator?"

"It's not like I have rabies or something." Nick countered.

"True. You don't have rabies, right?"

The chuckle echoing down the phone line made Chris sure he was sounding both paranoid and insane.

"Ok, ok, just – if you figure out a cure, you'll tell JC?"

"Sure, but I'm not really looking. It's not so bad, you know. Kinda fun, even."

"Fun. Right. Well – got to go Carter."

Chris hung up. He'd deal with this on his own, then.

*****

They were in Florida, at JC's house, for Thanksgiving when the crunch point came.

In theory, Chris and JC would get to see each other outside the weird dynamics of the full moon weekends and related conversations, and both extended families would get a chance to catch up and enjoy JC's newly refurbished home. The reality was slightly less idyllic; two of Chris's sisters bringing their boyfriends along, when Tyler had just split up from his girlfriend and was feeling sore about it, plus delayed flights and still unfinished building work, which meant the plumbing really wasn't up to the number of people staying. The phone call from a local radio station who'd somehow managed to get hold of JC's cell number and who called him live on air at three am was the final straw.

If he'd been properly awake, JC would never have answered the call, but even half asleep he knew better than to hang up on them or curse them out, so he rhythmically punched the pillow while answering their questions and trying to end the call politely. When the dj did finally let him go, JC was seething, and it took the very last bit of his control not to throw the phone at the wall. Waking his parents and enduring another round of 'are you sure you're ok son' and 'you know you can tell us anything' would not have improved his night in the slightest. Instead he pulled on an old sweatshirt, and with short harsh motions, let himself out of the house. Maybe a run would settle his mind.

Running didn’t help. The faster his blood pumped the faster his brain raced, turning over unsettled emotions and the kind of bitter thoughts he normally tried not to dwell on. Every jar of concrete through his joints seemed like an affront, and the sound of distant cars just grated on his nerves. He shook his head and powered on, but couldn't outrun his own thoughts, and eventually he stopped, at the foot of his own driveway once again, hands on knees, drinking in cool night air.

If he had been calm and rational he might have recognised the feelings sooner, the tightness of muscles and tingling of his skin, but he wasn't calm, and wasn't expecting it, nearly a week before the full moon, so the change took him by surprise. It was short and painful, with JC fighting it all the way, screaming out for Chris, for help, for it not to be happening.

And then there was peace, and strength and the flow of the night air over his coat. Every nerve in his body alive and ready for action, a shifting sea of grey and silver in front of him, and nothing but the moment to live in. The bushes were heavily scented, and instinct told him the glossy leaves would be excellent cover, as he prowled their length, alert to the sounds of the night. There was something moving the far side of the bushes, and as he drew closer he dropped to a crouch, shuffling forward with his body low until he could see what it was.

Electric light flared bright and sudden on his night eyes, and there were a dozen heartbeats where he was frozen, unable to see clearly what he could hear – human voices and footsteps and a sense of motion without detail. When his vision cleared he could make out several people, over by the building, and two figures walking slowly towards him, torches swinging bright points across soft grass.

He slunk backwards, silent and wary, until there was cold link fence behind him, buried deep in the bushes, and when the figures came closer still, his tail began to sweep the leaves, the muscles in his haunches tensing automatically, a low growl vibrating in his chest. The part of him that was still JC was starting to panic, but the instincts for fight or flight were strong, and when the closer of the two figures slipped, going to its knees in fallen leaves, he reacted without thought, leaping forward.

The impact in his shoulder was hot and bright, throwing him out of the air and off course, and he hit the ground with the far shoulder still meters from his target. Frantic head swings managed only to fill his nostrils with chemical stench, and his body mutinied where he tried to stand, laying him low as the world went black.

*****

Nothing, not even the past six months, had prepared Chris for the sheer terror of seeing Roy stumble and a sleek feline shape leaping towards him. Fortunately he'd brought the new tranc gun with him, with the intent of showing JC ahead of the next full moon, and when he first heard the screams he'd grabbed it out of its foam packing. Now the moment came to use it, he raised his arm, blew out a long steady breath and fired almost instinctively. The mixed fear and relief when the puma twisted in the air and landed heavily still a few metres away from Roy made his head spin.

He yelled back over his shoulder '"Back in the house! Get inside!" while running to Roy's side. He was desperate to get to JC, but didn’t dare until everyone else was safely inside.

"Roy? You ok?"

The light of the torches added a harsh edge to Roy's shocked expression, and Chris was reminded that the parents were none of them getting any younger.

"Wrenched my knee, I think. What was that?"

Chris reached out a hand and helped Roy to his feet, encouraging him back towards the house, while throwing hopeless looks over his shoulder. The torch light had fucked with his night sight enough that he couldn't make out anything in the stillness.

"Some kind of animal? Fuc … Really big dog? I'm not sure I want to find out. Lets get inside and make sure everyone's ok, yeah?"

Roy nodded and they hobbled with all due speed back towards the house. All the while Chris was trying desperately to think how on earth he was going to cover for JC's absence when they were back inside, and if anyone would notice if he totally faked the call to Animal Control. .

*****

As it worked out, that was the least of Chris's problems. Tyler had seen JC head out for a run some half an hour before, and everyone seemed willing to buy that as a reason he was out at nearly four am. Also, that everyone who wasn't going with Roy to the Emergency Room to get his knee strapped up should go back to bed and that Chris would wait up for the Animal Control people and JC. Which meant that as best Chris could tell, no one saw him slip away into the garden to look for the abandoned tranc gun and the sleeping puma. Frantically trying to work out how the hell you took a puma's vital signs wasn't the worst of it either, at least not once he was sure there were vitals to be taken and that he hadn't accidentally killed JC. Moving the puma was an impossibility, but Chris managed to doze off leaning against a tree and missed the moment of transformation from unconscious cat to unconscious JC. Getting him back into the house without anyone coming to see what the noise was tricky, but none of it could match JC's reaction when he woke up the next morning.

JC emerged from his room quiet and withdrawn, avoiding everyone entirely except Chris and his parents, and conducting his conversation with them in short bursts. Once he was sure Roy had suffered no long term ill effects, he nominated Chris host, made his excuses and drove off, not explaining to anyone where he was going. He didn’t answer his cell phone, and the last night and two days of family visiting passed for Chris in a blur of rising concern that he'd promised not to share with anyone. At least now Bev had seen enough first hand for Chris to lean on her shoulder in the kitchen and admit he was worried about JC without giving anything new away.

*****

Coming home to find JC camped in Chris's house wasn't all that surprising. Finding him reading on the bed in the puma-room, in the middle of the afternoon, days away from a full moon was. Or maybe it wasn't, seeing as Chris had spent the whole journey back trying to come up with reasons for the non-lunar related shift, so no doubt JC had come to his own conclusions.

"Hey, you" Chris flopped down on to the futon beside JC, purposefully crowding his personal space. "What you reading?"

"Hey yourself. Everyone get home ok?"

"Think so – although you get the 'subject of most worried speculation' award for the weekend, that's for sure."

JC put his book down – one of the collections of animal myths Chris had purchased months back – and buried his face in the comforter. Chris rested his hand between JC's shoulder blades and when that wasn't met with resistance, started up a gentle massage.

"I didn't realise that could happen."

JC's words were muffled, but clear enough in the silent room.

"Me either, although I was thinking. Extreme emotional reactions carry a pretty heavy bio-chemical kick, so maybe .. I mean – you've been pretty stressed, 'C, maybe it's like a hulk thing? A bunch of the contemporary stories deal with that – lust, anger, that kind of thing, triggering changes, maybe they got something right?"

"I thought you said they were all flimsy excuses for porn?"

"Doesn't mean they couldn’t have gotten anything right though, does it?"

JC shrugged under his hands, and didn't say anything for a while.

"Can I stay?" he asked eventually.

"That's still a dumb question."

"It nearly killed my dad Chris. If you hadn't – I keep thinking about it, and if I can't control it and I can't say for sure I won't turn into that any time, how can I make it safe?"

JC's voice was thick with unshed tears and Chris really wished he had a good answer to give.

*****

It was desperation that drove him to phone Nick again. Nothing Chris has said in over 48 hours had had any effect on JC, who quietly refused to leave the puma-room. He was quiet and more depressed than Chris had ever seen him, ignoring conversation and shrugging in response to direct questions. Each time Chris left the room, JC pulled the door closed behind him, so the locks swung shut. The sound made Chris's chest clench. The only time JC had an opinion was when Chris wanted to come back in and JC begged him not to, not to put himself at risk like that. The only reason Chris came upstairs to sleep was that he believed JC when he said that he wouldn't sleep at all if he was concentrating on not puma-i-fying.

So Chris climbed the stairs, and dug around in his email till he found Nick's phone number, and wrapped himself in his comforter to make the call.

"Freaky." Was Nick's reaction to the summery of events.

"Very. And much as I never imagined I would be saying this to you : what do we do?"

"He's really freaked out, huh?"

"No shit. Nick – how do you deal with this? Unless you think eating family members is fun …"

"You ever met my mom? – I'm joking. It's just – It's not like that for me. – Is that actually how he talks about the change?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said he said that 'it' attacked and 'it' did this and that. He really said that?"

"Yeah." Chris wasn't sure where Nick was going with this.

"Freaky."

"You said that already, kiddo."

"You really want to start that, old man? I'm just saying, that it's freaky. Like, he thinks the cat isn't him."

"It's not, though, is it? It's this animal w…"

Nick interrupted. "No – you're missing the point here - it's all him, or at least it's meant to be. If he's resisting the merge all the time, maybe that's why it's so tough for him? That's some freaky shit."

"So you keep saying."

"I didn’t think people could do that. I mean, I'm pretty much a go with the flow kind of guy, and it just fell into place, you know? Like – I have to change at full moon, but I can control it, change or not change any time I want otherwise, and I'm still me when I'm cat-form. Like I said – it's fun, and it's the best work-out when stuff's getting to you – better than being out on the water, even. Freaks some people out no end, but Baylee thinks I'm, like, the coolest toy ever."

"Shit – Brian lets you be around his kid?"

"Jesus, Chris – chill. Why wouldn't he? That's what I'm saying – I'm still me, I'm not going to hurt Little Lee – he's practically family! JC's got to be seriously messed up if he's not getting that."

Chris thought of JC, hiding away from the world in his basement. "Yeah, messed up and then some."

*****

Chris didn't remember Nick Carter being quite as sleek and good looking as the Nick Carter currently standing in his driveway, squinting a little in the evening sun. Then again, he didn’t remember feeling like Nick was their last best hope for sanity last time he'd seen him either, so maybe that was it. He started to suspect there may have been very good reasons for JC to have slept with the guy when Nick's first act was to gather Chris up into a crushing hug and ask him how he was holding up.

"He's still in the basement."

"And that's not what I asked, Chris."

"Yeah, but it kinda answers both questions – worried stupid if you want more details. Really glad to see you. About to apologise for every time I ever ragged on you in public glad, in fact."

"You ragged on me behind the scenes too?" Nick smiled

"Maybe. But you can't prove it – come on – let's get inside, yeah?"

It was strange to have Nick in his house, discreetly looking around and taking it in, when for months JC had been his only regular house-guest. Very strange to have someone look at the basement alterations with outsider's eyes and Chris hoped fervently nothing terrible ever happened here, because the press would have a field day coming up with reasons why there was a triple-reinforced prison cell in his home. Weird to share this secret he'd kept with JC for so long, but hardly the time to be selfish about things.

JC was watching the door when Chris unlocked it, and Chris couldn't read his reaction when he saw that Chris wasn't alone. The long hug between JC and Nick suggested it was basically positive though, so he let it go. He'd been hoping he'd done the right thing, especially as it was the only thing he could think of.

They got through the basic catch up, but JC really didn’t like Nick's theory.

"I can't Nick. I just – I can't" seemed to form most of his argument.

Eventually Nick decided that a practical demonstration was in order, and started stripping off.

"Um – Nick?" Chris was fairly used to all manner of strangeness from his peers, but random nudity from semi-strangers was still kind of odd.

"What? You wanted me to show him, and I like this shirt."

"I guess that makes sense – carry on, that man." Chris gestured, and told himself firmly that if Nick wasn't bothered then he clearly didn’t mind people seeing him. The all over tan added to the impression, and incidentally Chris was pretty sure he knew now why JC had gone back to Nick's bed.

The change itself was – mind bending. Nick crouching on all fours, hair covering his face, stretching and blurring and filling out, in a way that was impossible to follow exactly. Joints popped and thick creamy fur appeared but apart from the quick, hard breathing, it didn’t seem to hurt, nor to be half as gory as generations of horror films had suggested.

Cat-Nick shook his head, and padded softly back across the room, gliding past Chris with a shiver of fur, in order to greet JC with a gentle head-butt to JC's chin. Chris was struck by the sheer mass of the cat's skull, and the obvious strength of the creature. Of Nick. Because when the puma turned slightly and caught Chris' eye, there was no doubting who was in there.

He changed back to human form right there in JC's lap, which seemed to be a slightly easier process, like ice-cream melting, leaving him lounging naked and apparently unconcerned. It still didn’t stop JC's slightly wild-eyed insistence that his situation was different.

"Breathe, Jace" Chris circled his fingers on the soft skin of JC's forearm. "We're just trying to figure out what you can do, yeah? You wanted to make it safe, right?"

JC nodded.

Nick settled back on the far side of JC on the futon, curled close so that JC couldn't get away and could draw comfort from both of them.

"'C – 'C just chill a second, yeah? I wasn't trying to freak you out." Nick was petting JC's thigh over the faded jeans. "We'll work it out C – the three of us. You shouldn't be this scared, baby."

The 'baby' threw Chris entirely. He'd shared JC's affections, knew he'd never been the only one, and he'd been the one who'd taken himself out of the equation, so the sudden stab of jealousy wasn't logical. He figured from the look Nick was giving him he wasn't being that subtle about it, so forced himself to shrug and pack it away, concentrating on the rather more important subject of JC.

The conversation was basically circular though – the more Nick insisted that it didn’t have to be JC vs The Cat, the more JC insisted that it did, or otherwise something awful would happen and he, JC, wouldn't be able to stop it, and then they'd break for a bit, concentrating on calming JC down, and then start over.

Eventually Chris had to make his excuses.

"Guys? I'm just going to .. I'll make us some coffee, yeah? Leave you two to talk cato e cato?"

Nick rolled his eyes at the pun, but JC loosened his hold on Chris's shirt, so Chris took that as an agreement.

*****

He was still pacing the kitchen, rolling his shoulders and trying to get his head on straight when Nick joined him.

"You ok?" Nick's hand fluttered like he was about to reach out and changed his mind.

"More or less – you? You think you can help him out?"

"I'm gonna try, but, he's really really not open to the idea, is he?"

Chris shook his head. "Really not."

Nick tilted his head, considering Chris. "How much do you trust him?"

"With my life," Chris snapped. "He's one of my brothers, what do you think?"

"Brothers, huh? Not what I heard."

"What, like you and yours?"

Nick dropped the slightly arch tone immediately. "Point taken. You know what I meant. Look – I don’t know what's going on between the two of you – or the five of you – right now, and I don't need to, but 'C's not ok, and I want to help."

"Well – I appreciate that, but I don’t see what that's got to do …"

"It was just a question Chris. I'm sorry. OK?"

"OK. Um. Coffee?"

"Thanks – cream and two, please."

Chris busied himself with fixing drinks, and when he turned back with a mug, Nick thanked him and resumed the conversation.

"Look, I know this might sound crazy, but I don't think he's going to do this voluntarily."

Chris nodded slowly. "So – what are you suggesting."

"Maybe we force the issue a bit."

"Meaning?" There was no way for Chris not to sound suspicious.

"Meaning, it's full moon tomorrow night, so he's got to shift, right? What if he couldn’t lock himself away, and he can either get a grip and let himself merge, or he'll do something really bad?"

"Bad like …?"

"Bad like kill you?" Nick had the good grace to sound apologetic for suggesting it, and hurried on to explain. "Look, I'd offer, but he knows I can shift, which means I can defend myself, and I'm not one hundred percent sure what happens with two male pumas locked in a room together, but I know what you mean to him, or at least I think I do, and if anything's going to push him past the panic point …"

"So what – lock myself in with him and hope?"

"Pretty much."

Last best hope, huh. Chris looked into his coffee and wondered when the hell his life had gotten this complicated.

*****

JC hated the idea, which really wasn't a surprise. Neither was the fact that Chris and Nick were determined to go through with it anyway. Every way they talked about it, it seemed like the only possible solution. Leaving JC in his current state just wasn't an option, so Chris ran Nick through the usage and abusage of a tranc gun a few times while JC napped fitfully, and then made a couple of phone calls 'just to chat'.

When sunset approached, Chris gritted his teeth, forced himself to ignore JC's near hysterical begging, let himself in to the basement room, and tossed the keys to Nick before slamming the door behind him. JC was crouching in the far corner of the room, arms wrapped round himself, whispering 'No, no, no' over and over.

Chris sent up a quick prayer to whoever might be around that they were doing the right thing.

"Jace? Jace – you can do this. It'll be ok."

JC shook his head wildly, but he let Chris get close enough to rest a hand on his shoulder. Chris could feel him literally shaking, and knelt to wrap his arms around JC. "It's going to be ok Jace. It'll be ok'.

In the windowless room Chris would have been hard pressed to say how long he kept up that mantra, rocking JC back and forth slightly, hoping like hell he wasn't lying after all.

"Don't want to hurt you, Chris." JC blurted.

"I know, Jace, that's why I'm here. You're not going to."

"But the cat, it.."

"Nope. There is no cat, 'C. There's only you. Remember? 'Cos if Keanu can pull that off, I know you can."

JC's snort of laughter was somewhat strangled, but welcome none the less.

"God. I mean it, Chris. I don't want to hurt you."

"I mean it too – you're not going to. You wouldn't hurt any of us, so even if I'm your last choice out of five, I'm good."

"First choice." JC insisted, fingers scrabbling to wrap around Chris's hand. "Oh, fuck. Chris? I can feel it!"

"Moonrise, huh?"

"Change. Don’t watch." JC's breath was coming in short gasps, and he let go of Chris' hand, pulling back so they were no longer touching, tugging at his clothes as he went. "Don't watch. Oh, fuck."

Chris figured he'd ignored enough of JC's requests recently that he really should give him at least that much, so obediently turned his head so he couldn’t see the corner by the bathroom JC had retreated too, and strained to hear what was happening.

As with Nick's change, it sounded painful: harsh breathing patterns and joints popping as though under the hands of a demonic chiropractor. Chris held still until the breathing evened out and the feeling of being watched prickled unbearably between his shoulder blades.

When he turned JC's puma form stared back at him, and a heavy red tongue curled around long white teeth. Chris swallowed. Nick had somehow looked like Nick in both forms, but this was no JC. Nothing about the harsh yellow eyes looked familiar, and Chris had to fight not to screw his eyes shut and whimper.

"'C." His voice caught in the dryness of his throat, and Chris coughed and tried again. "Hey, Jace. It's me. Still. But you know that right?"

The puma's tail swept back and forth across the floor, and didn't blink. Chris really hoped Nick was paying attention, was managing to hold back his own change and had the tranc darts loaded.

"You doing ok there, Jace? Just, you know, let it happen? And I'll shut up any minute now; listen to me, telling you about the meditation type stuff, cos we all know that's your bag not mine, but you've been all kinds of stressed lately, so maybe it's ok for me to remind me that you know this stuff. Backwards and forwards, Jace, you know that whole going with the flow thing, right?"

The puma took a slow step forwards with its front paws, stretching itself long and low to the ground. He was narrower though the body than puma-Nick had been, but almost as heavy in the head. Roman nosed, which Chris had learned indicated a Florida puma. Dark lines around eyes that still hadn't left him, and Chris still couldn't see JC in there, and he was starting to panic a little.

Another step, and the puma shuffled its back legs underneath it, black tipped tail still swinging.

"Still me, Jace, still me. You know me, and you can do this." Chris was babbling, but damned if he could think of a good alternative, and at least he was keeping his voice pretty even and quiet. "Come on, man, you've broken my heart enough times, don't do this to me too. And I wasn't ever going to tell you that, but hey, look, apparently my mouth's just taken over and I don't get a say any more, and I hope you can hear me, Jace, cos if you can't we're royally fucked, so…"

The next paces were liquid, swift and sure, and Chris screwed his eyes closed, and just prayed.

The first touch of fur startled him, and he yelped. The touch came again, and Chris looked down in amazement, terror replaced with an overwhelming mix of relief and wonder. The puma was crouched along side him, rubbing his head against Chris's arm, for all the world like an oversized house cat marking its territory.

"Jace?"

The puma stopped and looked Chris in the eye. He couldn't have said how they had changed, but they had, because that was JC looking back at him, JC in cat form, all golden fur and giant paws, but totally, definitely, JC.

"God, C – thank you." Chris breathed, reaching out one hand tentatively. JC pushed his head into the touch, soft rich fur and hotter-than-human skin under it. "Jace, baby, you did it!"

******

The Fourth of July picnic was at JC's house that year. All five guys, plus families, plus partners, after some discussion about who was going to be sleeping where. During the heat of the afternoon before the barbecue most of the adults chose to stick to the air-conditioned house, but the little ones thought JC's gardens were the best thing ever.

Justin, Lance and Joey were playing lifeguard, if you could call horsing around by the pool and hamming up their super-soaker induced deaths supervising, which they did. Chris was enjoying the sun, basking with his head on Nick's stomach and JC sprawled across his legs, listening to the mayhem and petting JC's growing-out curls.

"Come play! Come play! Uncle Jus' is being mean and won’t let us play with the hose!"

The chorus of voices made Chris squint an eye open and look up. Brianna and his nephew Tom were tugging at JC's hand and, while it looked a lot to him like Justin was pre-occupied with throwing water balloons at the older kids, JC seemed to think they had a winning argument.

"Is he now? That's hardly fair" JC smiled.

Chris settled back against Nick, eyes shut against the sun once more. "You going to go make things a bit more even, Jace?"

"I think I might have been persuaded." JC rolled his head to kiss the ball of Chris's hand, and then shifted, a sensation Chris still wasn't used to, tingly and briefly heavy before JC found his paws and bounding off, play-chasing the children to their evident delight.

Chris rolled over onto his front, leaning up to watch as Joey dove for the hose and turned it on JC and his followers, amongst much squealing and giggling. JC snapped at the sparkling water, rearing up to bat at it with his paws, while Bri tried to keep up, using his massive body to hide her from her dad's water-jet attacks. Chris knew he was grinning like an idiot when Nick's absent minded stroking turned into tickles.

"Sap." Nick accused, with a smile.

"Yeah - pretty much," Chris confessed, leaning over to brush a kiss on Nick's sun-warmed chest. "Just thinking how much has changed, is all."

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Silveryscape, Don We Now Our Gay Apparel, 2004. Original URL: http://www.juppy.org/santa/stories.php?ForAuthorID=29&Year=2004


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